Clash of the Creed
by thunderphoenix00
Summary: Assassin's Creed II: Ezio finds his home burned to the ground, his father and sister dead, and his mother missing. All he knows is that the Templar's are responsible, and someone is going to pay for it.


I kind of thought of this while I was watching the trailer where Ezio caps that guy with his super up-the-sleeve-gun thing. That was wicked.

But I don't own. Wish I owned Ezio, though.

* * *

He had not been prepared for it when it came. He had been so used to living his life as normally as he possibly could—staying as low under the radar as he possibly could—that he had forgotten the reasons for that at all. He had forgotten why he was supposed to lay low—to make sure that no one knew who he truly was—and that carelessness had cost them—had cost _all_ of them. And now, he was the only one left to rectify these errors.

His knees hit the ground hard, ignoring the pain as he screamed at the unfairness of it all. He sunk his hands into the mud at his feet, throwing it harshly into the only remaining wall left of his home. His sister's corpse lay next to him, staring up at him with widened eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at her—to see the blood dripping from her mouth and chest—to see the intricate detailing of slashes and swipes that could only have come from someone exponentially well trained.

He placed the hope in his father, for a mere moment, before he spotted half of a body hidden under the flames of scorched earth. Puling himself to his feet, he ran towards it, hurling the rubble off of the body, revealing a charred, headless corpse. His stomach churned, and he felt the tears burning at the back of his eyes, but he would not give anyone the satisfaction of letting them fall. He clenched his fists and stood up, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him. He walked towards the now dilapidated home—finding only furniture strewn across what had once been his living room.

He couldn't find his mother. He had searched the entire burnt structure, more than once, for any signs of her, but there was nothing.

Just when he knew he could be in this place no longer, he spotted the dull object on the ground, half hidden under a chair. He picked it up, turning it over, and sighed. It had been the necklace he had given his father (with his mother's help) when he had been younger. Ever since that day, he always remembered his father wearing it—the man would never take it off. He turned his head to the side, and another feeling of sickness crept up through his chest. His father's head, eyes open, was staring at him. He could almost hear the words of disgust—of his failure—exiting his mouth.

He forced himself to turn away, clicking the necklace in place around his own neck. It was then that his senses shot warnings through his brain, and he heard the faint tumble of a rock in the distance. He darted his head around, but saw nothing besides the trees swaying in the wind.

And then he heard it again—closer, this time—the sound of footsteps. He spun, and spotted a tall man with a gleaming sword in his hand, dripping with blood. He was frozen—not in fear, but in realization that _this_ had been the man who had destroyed his home—who had killed his _parents_.

"You're not as scared as I thought you'd be, Assassin." The man said, smiling.

He didn't know how this man could have possibly known about his heritage, but his head was so full of rage that he couldn't think clearly. So instead, he clenched his fists, and forced himself not to jump at the man, even if that was the only thought going through his mind.

"Who _are_ you?" He demanded; voice low.

"It is not who I am, but who you are, that requires my intervention."

"I asked you a question." He hissed. "Identify yourself, or..."

"Or what, Assassin? You'll kill me?" The man laughed. "A boy of your calibre has no hope of defeating me."

"Then I will die trying!"

He lunged, then, ignoring the fact that this man had a broadsword and he had nothing but his hands. He had been trained to fight—had fought on more than one occasion and was told he was naturally gifted—but he had never gone up against a man with a sword when he had none. But he didn't care.

The man seemed surprised by his sudden movement, but stepped out of the way of his tackle just in time. He sprung back up and the man brought his sword down. He dodged and kicked the man's feet out from under him, driving an elbow into his midsection. The man swore and struck him in the temple with the hilt of his sword. He fell backwards but stayed standing, shaking his head to steady himself.

The man gripped his sword with both hands and swung it forward. He tried to dodge, but was caught between the wall and a burning pile of earth. He pitched back, but the blade caught him across the stomach, slicing through his side. He hit the ground on one knee as the man came at him, and he growled. He grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it towards the man, hitting him straight in the eyes.

The man screamed and took an unsteady step backwards, trying to regain his composure. But he sprung up, grabbing the man by the shoulders, and brought his head forward in a head-butt. The man wavered backwards and he punched him across the temple. He lost his grip on the sword and the Assassin grabbed it, driving it straight through the chest of the man as he fell.

He took a breath and dropped to the ground next to the man, now gurgling with blood.

"Tell me who you are." He demanded, grabbed the man by the shoulder. "And what you did with my mother."

The man laughed through the blood, grasping his wrist with a hand. "He took a liking to your mother... But you... Cannot stop this..."

"Stop this?" He echoed. "Stop what? Answer me!"

"You are a fool to think...That this world is free. The Templar will see...To that." With that, the man closed his eyes and his chest did not rise.

"The Templar?!" He roared. "Are you a Templar?!"

But the man was already dead, and the wound in his side was beginning to make him lightheaded. Someone had his mother. That meant that she was still alive, and he had to find her-- had to save her from the bastards who had done this. He tried to stand, but he stumbled, leaning against the wall for support. His eyes suddenly felt heavy, and he pitched forward, losing consciousness.

* * *

When he woke, he was somewhere soft, and his clothes were missing. He panicked, and felt the pain in his side increase as he shot up. But he recognized his surroundings easily, once his eyes focused, and the look of impatience was evident on the features of the auburn haired man sitting at the desk next to where he was currently stationed.

"Leo..."

"If the situation was even slightly lighter, I'd reprimand you for likely destroying the work I've just done on your stomach." Leonardo da Vinci stated with a sigh. "But since it is unlikely you would appreciate it, I'll simply leave it at that."

He looked around, eyes wider than usual. "How..."

"Word travels around these parts relatively quickly, as I'm sure you already know. I was actually in the forest, releasing one of the little birds I'd bought earlier today, and someone was racing by on horseback, saying that there was a fire. With a little investigating, I realized it was coming from your place. Luckily I got to you before anyone else arrived—they didn't know the shortcuts, see—and, well. You were still alive. So I brought you here." He bowed his head. "I am truly sorry I did not get there sooner."

"As am I, my friend." He said lowly. "But tell me that the man was dead."

"Quite. Though, I am afraid that you are in a far greater predicament than maybe you realize. And though I do want to give you time to come to terms with the death of your family, I do not think we have the luxury."

"What exactly am I not realizing, Leo?" He asked impatiently. "They killed my sister... My father... And they have taken Mother! All that I need to realize is that they need to be taken _down!"_

"That man was a Templar, Ezio." Leonardo said carefully. "And do not think for a moment that they were there to only kill your family."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they were primarily after you. You are the strongest remaining Assassin, and as of now, are the _only_ remaining Assassin."

"They have Mother!" He roared. "I need to save her...!"

"What did I just say?" Leonardo snapped. "You are dealing with the _Templar_. You will not find your mother easily-- not if they do not want her to be found. Please do not underestimate their capabilities."

"I thought the Templar had been destroyed."

"Just as the Assassin's had been, correct?" Leonardo asked with a raised eyebrow. "The world is not black and white. An entire guild is not destroyed in one day, or one night. There are always survivors, and they come back stronger, faster, and more powerful. That is the way the world works. You know this well. But the Templar are here, and they are doing something that even I could not have predicted."

"How do you know?"

"Templar, for all their power, are not entirely intelligent. Not all of them, at least." He smiled wryly. "It is easy enough for a man of my expertise to decipher the markings that all Templar leave behind."

"Is there a point of you telling me this, or can I simply trust you to make sense of it for me?"

"There _is_ a point. If you are to know your enemy, you need to understand the way their system works."

"Know my enemy? Leo..." He paused. "How long was I out for?"

"Almost a full day." He took the feather pen from the table and pointed to his stomach. "He got you in such a way that had I not come along when I did, you would have died within twenty minutes—blood loss. He severed quite a few arteries along the way." Leonardo grinned. "You would have been smarter to have not tried to dodge it, I would think."

He grimaced, cracking his neck. "That long?"

"That long." Leonardo confirmed.

"But that's beside the point." Ezio waved a hand. "How do we know these people—I mean, we're sure they're Templar. But how do we know they're after _me_?"

"I would imagine that they're after Assassins for a reason. Assassins are what stopped the Templar from taking control of the Crusades, after all. If they're planning something, I think that perhaps they want to eliminate all potential threats before they begin."

"But I'm not a threat! My _mother_ was no threat!"

"But technically, you are. The blood of the Assassin run in your veins. You are a good fighter—you're strong. Therefore, you are a threat." He smiled slightly. "So I would think, therefore, that you may want to think about becoming one."

"Become the Assassin they are looking for?"

Leonardo sighed. "I know you well enough to know that you will go after them, even if I do not think it to be the wisest idea at the time. But if it is an Assassin they want..."

"An Assassin they will get." Ezio hissed. "But weapons..."

And then Leonardo grinned. "What do you think I've been working on while you've been having a nap?"

* * *

Wow, I really don't think that made a lot of sense. These things kind of just pop into my head, and the whole story is there, but it never really works out quite like how I imagine it. Anyway, sorry if it's confusing. I'm sure the real story of AC2 will be far more entertaining.


End file.
